Family Ties
by SpeakUpAndFaceTheMusic
Summary: What happens when Rusty dies? What does his will leave Temperance Brennan with? Something that the emotionless forensic anthropologist won't be able to control. A child...Alright computer won't let me open this file so this story will be on hold for now.


Temperance Brennan sat quietly on the way to the lawyer's office. Her eyes were red and wet, her stomach churned with a sickening nausea, and her head pounded something awful. These feelings were not normal for her, only once in her early years of teenage adolescence she experienced these feelings that day she was sent into foster care.

The funeral was short and simple. Some of Rusty's old friends, co-workers, and some very distant relatives showed up to pay their respects, the minister said a few kind words and gave support to her. That was about it, though. Her parents, obviously, had not come . . . not that she expected them to. It would have been awkward, unexpected, and probably inappropriate considering the obvious rejection shown to their two children over the years. A pity visit is what would have been made of it. She quickly cast the thought out of her mind as soon as she felt tears spill over in her eyes.

"Bones," Agent Seeley Booth was next to her, casting a quick glance from the steering wheel. "Bones, I'm so sorry." How many times had she heard that? Too many.

Rusty had been lost in a freak car accident. It was a quick death, or so she was told, the giant blue truck had come out of nowhere, hitting the driver's side—Rusty's side—and snapping his neck instantly. Therefore the casket was closed; he was to be buried in St. Mary's Cemetery, their old church as children. They had gone every Sunday, Rusty would elbow her whenever Father Garris would drone on during the sermon, imitating him and making funny faces, it always kept her from falling asleep during mass.

No. No, she would _not _think about that. Not now, not ever, those days are long over, Rusty's long gone, accept it and move on.

"Death is a part of life, Booth, so there's nothing to be sorry about. The only thing we can do is post pone death until it takes us, so we're all dead either way, it's the way of life, it ends in death, always."

"Look, Bones, you don't have to prove anything to me. I understand, my dad died three years ago, it's okay to hurt."

"Booth, if I wanted to prove anything to you, than I would've cried today. I have nothing to prove. I only have to hear the will and move on, that's all I have to prove, that I can make it through the day."

"I don't understand why you couldn't just take this day off, Bones. This is tough enough on you, why do you have to make it harder?"

"Booth, I don't understand why you came today, I could handle this myself. Taking a day off will only let the pain settle in, it's easy to forget when you're occupied, when you are left alone things sink in deeper and deeper. That's what depression is."

"No, no it's not. I took four days off so I could cope with my father's death. Am I depressed?"

"No, but you do seem to cause a feeling of dread around others when you do happen to be depressed during a particular day or time."

"I am not depressed around everyone." He kept his eyes on the road, but made a quick glance and saw that Bones was smiling. Good. She needed something to help her with this . . . this "crisis" in her emotionless life.

They soon pulled up to the lawyer's office and got out of the car. Brennan walked up the steps with a tempo of urgency and alertness. Booth followed behind, watching her assertive attitude take effect.

_  
She really has a beautiful way of making people quiver,_ he thought fondly. But quickly shaking the fond thought out of his head, he went into the small office that three other men sat in.

He felt a sudden distaste for these "beneficiaries" of Russ Brennan's will. They were dressed in black suits, but the stubble on their faces meant they were in poor employment or were moochers, freeloaders, or just plain sloppy. The smell of alcohol permeated the room, which meant they were recently drinking . . . heavily. The scent of Old Spice deodorant, which meant they were trying to cover that up, and _that_ meant that they had a serious problem. The scent of Febreze air freshener meant that someone shared his disgusted thoughts about these three men.

"Booth," Bones said, breaking him out of his thoughts, "come on." She patted the leather chair next to her. He gratefully sat down, sitting a good seven feet away from the three moochers. Ugh. Thank God this was going to be a short reading. Thank God. . .

"Hello," A short man with a small greasy mustache and a horrible comb-over walked into the room, carrying a clipboard and piece of paper. One piece of paper? For the whole thing? Booth frowned, Russ Brennan really didn't have much to give. Bones shifted uncomfortably in her chair, he instinctively put an arm around her shoulder. She smiled at first, then not-so-kindly shoved him off, giving him a "just what the hell do you think you're doing?" look.

"My name is Dick Lewis; I am going to be the executor of Mr. Russell James Brennan's will. To you four," he shot a confused look around the room, probably mentally counting the odd number of people in his office. "Humph, hmmm." He collected himself, "You will receive the things held most dear to Mr. Brennan.

"'First, to Mr. Joe Spinnetti, my good buddy, I wish to give my entire set of collectible 1940-1970's racecar models.'" He handed the certificate to Joe. "The set are in storage, you may retrieve them when you wish." Joe frowned, probably annoyed as to why he got a set of model cars. "Do not worry, Mr. Spinnnetti, those cars are worth thousands of dollars, if given to any sensible collector, Russell mentioned that in the will as well. With that Joe's face lit up with amazement and joy.

"'Next to my trusted co-worker, Alex Martinez, I leave my work orders and files to you, all of my possessions that were used in my previous college profession of Trucking.'" Another certificate was handed to Alex, who looked surprised but happy, nonetheless.

"'Thirdly, to my trusted social worker friend who kept my sister safe all those years. Lawrence Newman, I leave all of the money kept in my "Special Fund" and all of the possessions with it. I hope you understand my immense gratitude towards your kindness toward Penny and me.'"

"Penny?" Booth whispered to Brennan, eyes widening.

"Rusty called me that when I was young. No six-year old would remember the name Temperance, so he helped out a bit. Penny was the only thing he could think of. It saved me a lot of time and humiliation as a child." She whispered back.

"Oh."

"Don't even think of calling me that, Booth, Rusty was the only one who called me that once I got out of medical school."

"Understood, Bones." He smiled to himself, she made a good Penny.

"'And finally, to my little sister. Temperance "Bones" Brennan, please, please know that what I do now, I do with a heavy heart and total trust in you. I would never trust anyone with this responsibility, please don't hate me for this, please I don't want you haunting me in the afterlife. So, to my beloved little sister, I leave my son, Daniel Marcus Brennan, in your custody. I love you, Penny.'"

Booth heard a quick intake of breath from beside him. Had Rusty just given Bones a kid? Had he just left a single woman with a demanding and dangerous job a kid that she hadn't even met before? And just how long had Rusty kept this secret from her? And why the hell was Bones not in the chair next to him?! Wait, where was Bones? Oh crap. . .

He heard a familiar engine start and a car screech out of the parking lot. Oh crap!

"Bones! Bones! BONES!" he shouted after her while the four other men walked outside to see the spectacle.

"Nice car," Joe Spennitti commented. Booth turned on his heel and shot him a deathly look.

"Well, we didn't need that kind of response," Dick Lawrence mumbled. Booth also turned to glare at him. "Well, I am sorry, but I figured that she wouldn't have a problem with a child. She _is _a woman after all." He chuckled, "Especially a woman with a man like you to lean on, there shouldn't be a problem." He laughed a little harder now.

Booth did the only thing he could think of. He punched the smart-ass right and he landed flat on the ground. The dazed lawyer looked up at him as if to say, "why?"

"Look buddy, Bones is no ordinary _woman_. She has a job that is—mostly disgusting—and can get her killed! She has never cared for a child before, it's always been her, and I am not married! Got that, single," he showed the confused man his left hand, "as is she. And we are currently single today, yesterday, tomorrow, and beyond. Good day gentleman."

He walked a quarter mile in the direction that Bones had driven off—still fuming—and stopped after another three miles at a Dairy Queen and called Bones. He did this five times in a row. She finally picked up on attempt number six.

"Hello," a cracked voice said.

"Bones, good Lord, where are you?"

"At the cemetery, Rusty's grave."

"You didn't vandalize it, did you?"

"No. I thought I might get some answers. And I did. Booth, I'm going to take Rusty's son."

"Are you sure about that Bones? That's a lot of responsibility and you don't have a lot of time for a kid."

"I know, but I'll make it work. If Rusty had enough faith in me, than I think I'll be able to do it."

"Fine. I promise you Bones, I'm going to help you do this, any way I can."

"Thanks, Booth. But I'll handle things on my own for now."

"We can talk about it. But first, would you, ya know, come and pick me up. I don't feel like walking to the Jeffresonian."

"Oh! Right, I'm coming."

"Ok, I'm at the Dairy Queen three miles from the law firm."

"Got it. I'll be there soon. Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a Dairy Queen?"

"Bones. . ."


End file.
